Page 16 of Wild Hearts (Ruby Ridge #1)

catalina

. . .

H ow the fuck did I get in here?

I wake to the soft light of morning spilling through my window and the warmth of my blankets cocooning me. My head feels heavy, my eyes are going to fall out of their sockets, my body’s drained, and I feel like I barely existed inside my skin last night.

I blink against the sunlight, disoriented. Trying to piece it all together.

The last thing I remember is sitting on the couch downstairs, my chest caving in, my hands shaking, the feel of pins and needles radiating throughout my body, and my mind spiraling into that suffocating darkness.

The kind of darkness that always fucking wins.

A brief flash of Carter comes crawling back to memory.

His hands were on my face, wiping away my tears. His voice, low and patient, pulling me back from the edge one breath at a time. His gruff exterior was nowhere to be found last night, and seeing this soft side of him shifted my perception of him.

Carter Hayes isn’t just some broody, stubborn cowboy with a short temper and a sharp tongue. There are layers to him.

Complicated, messy, beautiful layers he guards like a man who’s been burned before.

I know being here with me, dealing with this chaos, isn’t what he signed up for. I know this isn’t easy for him. But the way he stayed and held me together when I was falling apart tells me more about his character than any of his walls ever could.

I sit up slowly, the blanket slips from my shoulders and pools around my waist.

And that’s when I see him, asleep.

Right there, on the floor beside my bed.

Sucking in a quiet gasp, my heart catches painfully in my chest. He’s sprawled out, one arm bent behind his head, and his entire body stretched out carelessly, like he passed out from sheer exhaustion.

His tattoos are stark against his skin in the morning light, black and white ink painting his arms and chest in sharp lines.

The only hint of color is that damn rose on his pec, the one I caught a glimpse of before, half-hidden in the shadows.

Now, in the soft glow of the morning, it stands out vivid and haunting.

A scar he chose to wear in ink.

Always loved.

My curiosity gets the best of me, sending my brain into overdrive. I silently scoff to myself, probably for some ex-bitch who didn’t deserve him. My pulse stutters at the sight of him, sprawled out and unguarded, his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths.

What the fuck is he doing here?

I can’t stop staring at him—at how the early light catches the edges of his tattoos, how his hair falls messily across his forehead, and how my heart twists painfully in my chest just looking at him.

Last night…

He stayed .

He didn’t stay out of obligation; no one asked him to. He stayed—because he wanted to.

I should be annoyed. I should be humiliated that he saw me like that, but I’m not.

All I feel is something dangerously close to safe, and that fucking terrifies me more than anything.

Hours have passed, and he’s still dead asleep. It’s the weekend, so I figure this is his time to rest and recuperate.

Thank god for me.

I could be a bitch and start blaring my music at full volume, scream-singing the lyrics just to wake him up, but for once, I decide to play nice.

Shocker.

Rolling onto my side, I grab my phone from the nightstand and thumb through my messages.

I send a text to my girls, updating them on everything.

Well, almost everything. I leave out the part about Carter at the bar—the way he grabbed that guy, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered—because I don’t need the running commentary from them right now.

Especially when my head is already a fucking mess.

Catalina

You guys, I had an anxiety attack last night, and Carter comforted me.

Layla

Shut the fuck up, do you love him?

Amelia

Layla, please, you’re reading too many romance novels.

Layla

Um, no. There is such a thing as instalove.

Catalina

Both of you shut up, he comforted me, held me, AND he took me to my room as I slept, and he slept on the floor with me last night. He’s still in here asleep.

Layla

OMG LET ME SEE.

Amelia

I’m with Layla on that.

Catalina

*photo of Carter sleeping*

Layla

Oh my god, he’s a smokeshow. How are your panties not soaked all the time?

Amelia

LAYLA LOL

Catalina

No, she’s right. I haven’t been laid, and the urge to ride this cowboy is real.

Layla

Yasssss gurl. Does he have brothers?

Catalina

He does, two of them.

Layla

Stfu. We’re literally booking a flight to come see you, and I need some eye candy.

Amelia

Oh, okay. I guess we’re flying out there, see you soon, babe.

I snicker to myself, clutching my phone tighter.

God, I love them.

Not even two seconds later, a photo lights up my screen—a screenshot of their itinerary. They’re arriving this afternoon.

Finally, some normalcy. Something that makes me feel like I can breathe again.

I guess my giggling was too loud, because Carter starts to stir on the floor.

A low, gravelly groan rumbles out of him, filling the room.

Shit, if that isn’t the hottest sound I’ve ever heard. I glance up just in time to catch him shifting, muscles flexing, and his face scrunching against the morning light.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice thick with sleep. His eyes crack open, immediately narrowing into a glare. “What the hell is so funny?”

I press my phone to my chest, grinning like the little shit that I am. “Oh, nothing,” I chirp sweetly. “Just texting my girls about my new guard dog. And they’re visiting this weekend, soooo get ready, Carter—so much fun headed your way.”

He groans again, dragging a hand down his face, looking like he’s already regretting every decision that led him to this moment.

“I’m not your goddamn guard dog,” he grumbles. “And great. Can’t wait. So much fun.”

The sarcasm drips off every word.

He pushes himself up to sit, his hair messy, and somehow, that only makes him look fucking hotter. He mutters under his breath as he shifts, shooting me a glare that’s way more fond than he probably realizes.

“This is what I get for giving a shit.”

Oh?

I practically bounce on my heels as I stand outside the tiny Ruby Ridge airport, scanning the small crowd with frantic excitement. The second I spot Amelia’s sleek black suitcase and Layla’s bright, beaming face, I fucking lose it.

“Oh my God!!!”

I sprint towards them, nearly tackling them both in a crushing hug, tears instantly springing to my eyes.

Amelia pulls back first, her sharp green eyes dragging over me like she’s trying to solve a puzzle.

“Bitch, you look like a whole-ass ranch princess,” she says, tugging at the edge of my white tank top in shock.

Layla gasps, grabbing my hand dramatically. “Wait. Are those boots?” She squints closer. “Of course you fucking bedazzled them.”

I roll my eyes as they both cackle. “First of all, rude,” I huff. “Second of all, if I had to wear these ugly boots I had to make them sparkle, so shut the fuck up.”

Layla squeezes my arm, dropping her voice to a faux-whisper. “Okay, but an important question... is Carter secretly a serial killer? Blink twice if you’re being held hostage, and we’ll stage a rescue.”

I snort. These bitches.

“I’m fineeeee,” I say, dragging my words out dramatically. “God, you guys are so extra.”

Amelia grins, already scanning behind me. “Wait, is loverboy here?”

She wiggles her eyebrows, making an exaggerated kissy face that has Layla choking on laughter.

I sigh, gesturing behind me where Carter leans against his truck, arms crossed, and wearing his signature unimpressed scowl like it’s part of his uniform.

Amelia and Layla turn at the same time and instantly go silent.

“Oh,” Amelia breathes, dragging her gaze down his massive frame. “The picture did not do that man justice. I totally fucking get it now.”

Layla snickers under her breath like she’s plotting something dangerous.

I groan loudly, grabbing their suitcases before they embarrass me further.

“Please, for the love of God, don’t make this fucking weird.”

“Too lateeee,” Layla singsongs as we head toward the truck.

Carter acknowledges them with a stiff nod—the closest thing to friendliness you’ll ever get out of him—before reaching over and pulling open the passenger door.

“Get in,” he grumbles, jerking his chin toward the truck .

Layla dives into the backseat first, practically throwing herself in with a squeal, and Amelia climbs in after her, far more composed but still grinning like a lunatic.

I slide into the passenger seat, glancing over at him and nearly snort. He looks like he’s two seconds away from driving us all straight off a cliff.

Biting back a smile, I pull out my phone and connect it to the truck’s aux. Without a shred of mercy, I blast our favorite playlist.

The second the first beat drops, Layla and Amelia lose it.

“Oh my Godddddd!” Layla shrieks from the backseat, bouncing against Amelia. “Remember when we heard this live? Best day of our fucking lives!”

We scream every word and bounce in our seats with our hands flailing in the air like maniacs. The truck shakes from the bass and the sheer chaos exploding inside it.

He exhales sharply and grips the steering wheel with both hands like it’s the only thing keeping him from veering off the road.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me right now,” he mutters under his breath.

I turn to him with my brightest, most obnoxious smile. “You like it?”

He doesn’t glance at me, just stares dead ahead, “Clearly, princess,” he says, the sarcasm oozing from his voice, “I’m loving it.”

“Great!” I chirp, cranking the volume higher until the whole truck vibrates. “Then let’s turn it the fuck up!”

Layla and Amelia scream-laugh behind us.

Amelia reaches forward to slap his shoulder. “C’mon babe, you gotta admit, this is a fucking banger. ”

He lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a groan and a growl. “I don’t gotta do shit.”

Layla giggles like she finds him the most adorable thing on the planet.

He shoots me a look, the kind of look that promises vengeance.

I smirk wider, turning back to the windshield, and belt out the following lyrics even louder.

If he thought he could survive a weekend with my girls and I without losing his mind, he’s got another thing coming.